Feathers and Fur
by WhatYouCan'tKnow
Summary: Wings do not come standard with hobbits. Marigold Baggins is not a standard hobbit. When her addoptive brother is dragged away by dwarves on a ridiculous quest she follows just as Belladonna would have wanted. While on the road she is given the chance to be what she is. Not a hobbit. She also finds out that Dwaves have innate fear of birds. Always useful to know. OC/OC
1. Killing chickens

**First shot at The Hobbit, not first fanfic though. I have read the book so don't get all grumpy and call me a stupid girl who only watched the movie. I'm likely to follow more of the books story line though depends what I feel like but the movies descriptions as they are far easier to picture and describe. Now this is going to be one of those annoyingly long A/N's but hey it's important. Will not be a Dwarf/OC, Hobbit/OC, Elf/OC, Man/OC, incest or slash story so sorry if that disappoints you. It will be an OC/OC story though.**

If anyone would ask Bilbo Baggins whether his dear sister were quite right in the head, he would promptly suppress a growl (growling is most unhobbity) and say in a very no nonsense way, "Marigold is quite the average hobbit. Thank you."

And by all sense of the word Marigold was, she acted precisely as she should, like a Baggins. She read, sewed, cooked, cleaned, spoke with poise and manners and like any respectable Baggins she showed nothing peculiar.

"You are a hobbit little one," Belladonna would always tells her at the end of the day. "Perhaps not always by blood but you are as kind and polite as any young hobbit."

Which roughly translated meant not much. Young hobbits were notorious for causing mischief and getting into strife.

That is beside the point though as Marigold was no longer an adolescent. She was a fine young lady.

However she had been heavily influenced by her brother Bilbo's Took side as a child and, much to her parents dismay, had retained some of these traits.

Carefully hidden away of course, again much like her brother, but there all the same.

If it weren't for blasted wizards then neither of the remaining Baggins of Bag End would have discovered just how shallow the Took blood was.

Marigold was surprisingly sullen at 1st breakfast, she tied her apron around tattered skirts and begun on preparing the food. Hopefully cooking cheered her up, a sour sister was never a good way to start the day. Luckily for Hobbiton she was smiling by the time she had finished.

"Sister?" Bilbo asked as we finished our eggs and toast.

"Hm?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is there anything you need from the market?" he questioned, rather considerately if you asked him.

"Oh, um, yes, some of Mr Longfoot's bread, he always bakes well on a Wednesday. Oh and perhaps some fish for Dinner?" she requested excitedly.

"Would you like to come along?" he stood up and begun to wash and sort the dishes. It was only polite to clean up if Marigold had cooked.

"Nay, I cannot, I promised I would help Mrs Brownhare with her chickens. Right pieces of work they are, always getting out," she added with a laugh. Bilbo joined in and shook his head at his sister's generosity. Although Mrs Brownhare did reward helpers quite handsomely.

"Have fun," he called back as he walked out of the freshly painted and down the paved lane. It was a jolly good morning, not a chance of rain. The perfect sort of day to sit outside of one's door and smoke their pipe.

_Yes, best finish up at the market. Perhaps Marigold would like to take a walk through the forest? Yes, yes, _the finely dressed hobbit thought to himself as he tapped the pavement with his walking stick.

He did his business at the quiet market, buying a loaf of bread, two freshly caught fish for dinner, some potatoes, some supplies for Marigold's latest project –a swing and tree platform for the young hobbit-girls and hobbit-boys –and he even conceded into buying himself a new book on Black Speech.

Burdened with his goods he returned to his now empty hole. He spent a time putting his goods in their rightful place and setting out Marigolds supplies.

Eventually all his jobs were done and he took his pipe and sat on the finely carved bench in his front garden. Bilbo was so intent on practising his smoke rings he almost missed the tall figure in front of him completely.

**_Marigold. _**

Marigold had forgotten quite how much she hated chickens. She only wanted to snap its neck! Why did they have to keep running away?

The brown haired girl was down to the last chicken, the one she had been putting off all morning. She'd named her Mustard as that is what she was destined to be eaten with.

Mustard dashed under the garden gate, a feat which for all purposes should not have been possible. Marigold hitched her leg over the low fence and continued the chase. Careful not step on anything which would bring a Hobbits wrath upon her she ran after the fair coloured chicken to the cheers of the younglings.

After 3 hills and over a dozen crushed tulips Mustard squawked and ran straight towards her. Blinking in mild surprise Marigold scooped up the chicken and promptly cracked its neck. They were past their prime egg laying age, it was time for them to be sold as meat.

She looked up to thank whatever had done her job for her only to be faced with a white furred neck. Straining her neck to new lengths she saw the rider of the steed. A man with very strange taste in hats.

"Good day my girl," the tall man said politely, tipping his hat.

"Good morning," she chirped, the dead chicken dangling in her hand. "Thank you for stopping Mustard."

"What a brilliant name for a chicken!" he exclaimed with a bright smile. "What is your name young one?" he asked with a kindly smile.

"Marigold Baggins, Sir," she replied with the ease of a well mannered hobbit. "May I ask what your name is?"

The old man decided to ignore her question completely. "Marigold Baggins! I haven't seen you since you were but a young lass under Belladonna's skirts! How are your wings coming along?" he questioned excitedly.

Marigold gasped and began to step away from the man. How would he know such a thing? With wide eyes the hobbit-lass ran back to Mrs Brownhare's garden, dead chicken swinging from her hand.

**I'm sorry if the updates are slow, depends what mood I'm in**


	2. A little too much pipeweed

**Just for fun. **

By the time the rather tall hobbit-lass had finished collecting her payment for rounding up the hens –a plucked Mustard –Gandalf had already had a rather interesting conversation with Bilbo and was headed back to Bree.

Marigold went to turn the brass door knob only to find the door locked. A gentle-hobbit never locked their door, one only locked their door if they had something to hide.

"Bilbo!" she called, rapping sharply on the wood. "Brother! Why have you locked me out?"

Dilated eyes peeked around the corner of the large door finally deciding that his sister was not a threat.

With large cautious steps Marigold walked into their hole, Bilbo shutting the door behind her with a snap. She frowned at her adopted brother and stood stubbornly, arms crossed and all.

Bilbo continued to check the door, his hands fussing with chairs and umbrellas, jamming the door.

"What on earth did I ask him to tea for? What have I done?" he moaned and muttered like a Hobbit who had been hit too many times.

"Bilbo, just how much pipe-weed did you smoke this morn'?" she asked suspiciously. Her brother was nervous and slightly volatile at the best of times, combined with just a pinch too much to smoke and before you know it she had to tie him up in a blanket and let him sleep it off. Nasty business, he has a fondness of ranting. Even the most patient of kings would tire of, "Too green! Too green!" after a while.

He scowled at her, seeping with disapproval. "The usual amount Mari. I promised you I wouldn't do that again," he chided, like Marigold was the one in need of telling off.

"Yes you did, five times," she stated. His mouth opened and closed like a fish freshly pulled from the river. Before he had a chance to retort she continued, "you didn't happen to see a large man with a ridiculous hat? He knows about my wings!" She was beginning to panic just as much as Bilbo.

He stopped in his fussing and turned to his sister, quirking his eyebrow in the way she had learnt.

"Well of course Gandalf knows! He was the one who suggested mother take you in. He didn't get to you as well did he?" he asked frantically.

"I just ran into him," Marigold defended. "He seemed polite enough until he asked how my wings were!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Stay well away from him sister. That wizard brings adventure and trouble," he warned.

"He had good fireworks though," Marigold whispered, remembering a party under the stars and a man with a pointy hat who made the sky explode.

"Yes well, if he comes around don't open the door. Come a get me, I invited him and I can uninvite him!" the trembling little Hobbit said victoriously, completely forgetting all the grammar his father had instilled in him.

With a weary shake of her head she brushed past Bilbo to throw her chicken on the dining table before retying her apron and retrieving her largest knife.

"Perhaps we should have chicken for dinner instead?" she asked, looking up at Bilbo slightly as she snapped the chickens thighs.

He was still flustering around even going as far as carrying a chair to jam the handle before shaking his head and taking it back.

Marigold sighed and got back to her work, her brother was in no state to talk to her. Once the chicken was gutted and placed in the larder she set Bilbo down with a cup of tea and fell to his feet.

"The woes of being a girl," she sighed, leaning her head against the chair.

"You wouldn't leave me behind would you?" Bilbo asked quietly.

"What a strange question," she muttered. "You would not survive without me Bilbo," Marigold chuckled. "Who else would cook and keep up appearances?"

Bilbo snuffled and mussed up her hair making her squawk and pat it down again.

"I can take care of myself quite well thank you," he huffed. Marigold stood up with a smirk and patted Bilbo's arm on her way out.

Marigold walked down the lane with a bag of supplies slung over her sturdy shoulder. Down the hill she went to the edge of the line of trees. The younger children of Hobbiton and beyond had marked out their favourite tree. It was rather easy to find, with initials carved onto every available surface.

She set out the planks of wood she had saved from the farms along with nails, rope and a mallet.

Just as she had completed the first pallet she was attacked by several screaming younglings.

"Mari!" voices chorused from all around her. She was stuck in the middle of 11 little hobbit boys and girls.

"How is everyone today?" she asked kindly.

"Good," they chirped in unison.

"Are you finally making it?" a little girl cried.

"I promised I would Fíriel, I just happened to take my time," Marigold defended herself. "Wouldn't want it falling down now would we?"

The children all obediently shook their heads. They did not need to know of her unexplainable need for everything to be perfect and organised before she could start.

Marigold and the young ones spent the afternoon ignoring their chores, hauling their tree-house into place and getting mud all over themselves.

Marigold returned home with her skirts ripped and her feet muddied. Bilbo had locked the door again and seemed rather panicked when he opened the door to find his dishevelled sister.

"What happened to you?" he asked, standing back and letting her through –only after making sure she wiped the mud off her feet.

"Children," she stated with a smile. Bilbo made a noise of understanding before scurrying down the burrow back to his meal.

"I made dinner!" he shouted back down the hall. Mari gawked at his back. Impossible.

"You can't cook Bilbo. I mean no offence but you cannot," she said blankly.

He looked back at her indignantly. "I most certainly can! You prepared the chicken earlier today and all I had to do was cook. I don't know why you make such a fuss out of it!" he exclaimed throwing his arms into the air as he set her plate in front of her –still hot from the oven.

Marigold bit her tongue and shook her head. At the very least Mustard was living up to her name.

**Updates may be slow but be assured that they will not be non-existent. Remember the dwarves turn up the day after Gandalf.**


	3. Not a highlight

**I'm sorry to anyone following this for the wait and the shortness. But it's raining and that tends to make me write faster.**

The next day found Mari sitting at the edge of the forest overlooking the children playing in their new tree house.

Marigold was content enough to sit and make sure they were safe while sewing the tears in the skirt she had worn the day before. She didn't particularly dislike wearing skirts but it was fair to say that they had a habit of getting snagged up in things.

Soon her work skirt had another patch, this time a cheerful blue. Bilbo was beginning to take whatever opportunity presented itself to destroy the skirt.

"A Baggins!" he would shriek. "You are a Baggins! You cannot be seen with tattered skirts when we have the wealth to buy you new ones." Then he would huff and walk off with his hat and walking stick to who knows where.

The day passed easily, it was overwhelmingly bright and cheerful, it practically hurt your eyes.

By the time night was falling Marigold and Bilbo were hauled up in Bag End settled around the fire; Bilbo reading one of his many books out loud and Marigold re-stitching the hems of her blankets. Both had forgotten about the panic caused by Gandalf's arrival in Hobbiton the day before.

This of course was ruined by a resounding knock on the door.

"The Elves then migrated to… Oh! Oh dear, I forgot about Gandalf. Oh dear, oh dear," he fussed, roused from his reading.

Marigold raised an eyebrow. "Gandalf?"

"Yes Gandalf. I invited him over and then forgot! Go get some firewood and a larger chair," he ordered already skittering off to gather cakes and teacups.

"Sure, sure. I thought girls were meant to get the easy jobs," Mari grumbled as she trudged out towards the storeroom where the wood was stacked and the spare things kept.

For the exact purpose of irritating her brother she took her sweet time getting there, first stopping at her room to pull on her coat. She had been expecting a quiet night in and had therefore worn a shirt which allowed her wings freedom. She dawdled around the store room, picking the wood from the bottom of the pile and the very best chair from behind the garden supplies.

She hummed to herself happily to ignore the noise from the dining room. Bilbo was likely yelling at Gandalf or himself. Either way quite amusing. With the chair scraping the polished floorboards behind her and the firewood piled high in her arms she made her way down the hall to where the noise was loudest. As she neared the dining hall she thought that it was rather a lot of noise for a nervous Hobbit and sly Wizard to be making.

Cautiously Marigold placed the wood down on the chair and poked her head around the corner of the round doorframe. Merry looking stout men were crowded in the kitchen she had spent the day cooking in and cleaning mercilessly. Laughing and drinking an outrageous amount of coffee and tea they ate the seedcakes, scones, pies and tarts she had spent hours making. And there was her brother, cowering against the heath, a biscuit clutched between his fingers.

She stepped into the room in an anger filled haze. Her wings launched from her shoulders, getting caught on her coat and hitching it painfully.

"Would someone care to explain why there are _Dwarves _in my house?" she screeched at an unnaturally high pitch.

Gandalf and Bilbo seemed to notice first. Gandalf with a look of glee and enthusiasm while Bilbo looked mildly traumatised.

"Ah Marigold my dear! I was wondering where you had gotten to," Gandalf exclaimed, gaining himself and Marigold the Dwarves attention and silence. They each elbowed their kin towards the latest development.

At the same time Bilbo had launched from his stool and made his way to his sister. He took off her straining jacket, knowing full well that she would be in a foul mood if it were torn. Well more of a foul mood.

Into the overstuffed room came a set of large, dull coloured wings. Slightly furred instead of feathered but nothing extraordinarily beautiful. This set Bilbo into even more of a panic for an argument was sure to come when wings were brought into play.

The Dwarves all became a little stunned at the new addition to the gathering. One particularly dumb looking blonde seemed to be mouthing, 'it's a girl with wings,' over and over to the young Dwarf beside him who was nodding cautiously.

Mari picked up on this and snapped, "Yes I am a girl, if that weren't obvious enough already. And before any questions are asked, yes those are wings and yes I am not afraid to hit you with them. Now, good, we got that settled. Would someone like to answer my question? I'll take that silence as a yes. What are you doing in my house, eating the food I took the time to bake?"

She said all this rather quickly, giving the Dwarves no time to defend themselves or answer.

"Mari…" Gandalf began tiredly. Bilbo was backing away to the relative safety of the hallway. He had experienced Mari's rage on far too many occasions to stick around.

"I was not talking to you Wizard," she spat. The glare sent his way was enough for any Hobbit or Dwarf run back to their mother's skirts.

It simply enraged the Wizard though who had stared straight back.

Most of the Dwarves had gathered what food they could and retreated to the lounge. Even the mighty warriors of The Lonely Mountain would run from an irritated Hobbit.

Thorin Oakenshield however remained out of honour and hidden curiosity. He cast a few quizzical and almost exasperated glance towards his company.

"Marigold!" Gandalf boomed. "Where have your manners gone? Belladonna would be disgusted with you."

That hit a nerve, her wings flinched along with the rest of her face. Instead of backing down she continued with more gusto.

"Belladonna would not want her possessions misused and trodden on by uninvited Dwarves! And she would certainly not want me or Bilbo to be taken advantage of," the girl yelled back.

At this point Thorin decided to intervene. "Now, I believe you are mistaken, we were invited. We are not 'taking advantage-'" the king said calmly before being hit in the head with a strong furry limb.

"Shut up," both Mari and Gandalf had yelled at him at the same time. Mari had just taken it a step further and possibly knocked out the future King under the Mountain.


End file.
